


Love in the Time of the Corona

by BillieBleu



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Fluff, Love, M/M, Robbe pov, Softness, sander pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BillieBleu/pseuds/BillieBleu
Summary: Robbe and Sander are confined each in their own home.Separation is excruciating, but it also gives them both time to think.All chapters can be read on their own:- one short drabble in Robbe's point of view (life at home);- one short drabble in Sander's point of view (life at home);- one short drabble in Robbe's point of view (one night, Robbe can't help but leave his apartment);- 3 snapshots of Sander asking Robbe "Can't we just meet up once?" (+ 1 time when Robbe was the one asking);- 2 letters from Sander to Robbe and 2 letters from Robbe to Sander.- What they miss: Sander's pov, then Robbe's pov.- How Sander has a new-found appreciation for mornings; while Robbe has a new-found appreciation for nights.(probably more to come)
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 4
Kudos: 112





	1. Confined Robbe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at home during lockdown

It’s day 4. 4. As in, 1 2 3 fucking 4. And Robbe can’t anymore. Calling his Love is the first thing he’s done after waking up and the last thing he’s done before falling asleep since the beginning of all this, and it’s not enough.

It’s torture. It’s a crime against humanity. His humanity. At first it was fun and cute setting his phone on his desk and studying quietly while seeing from the corner of his eyes, on his phone screen, Sander drawing in his own bedroom at his own desk. It was comforting setting his phone on a pillow and feeling his eyelids getting heavier as Sander whispered soft soft things. But this is getting ridiculous. He absolutely does not care about seeing his boyfriend anymore. What’s seeing good for? He wants to stand on tiptoes and wrap his arms around Sander’s neck and feel his lips on his. He wants his tongue, damn it. On his lips, inside his mouth. He wants to have a hand in soft bleached hair and to feel Sander pulling him so deliciously close and -

How much longer can this go on for, huh? He knows it’s not about him, and he’s relieved that he’s here to stay with his mom, and he’s worried about all of it, and he knows how important it is to stay home and avoid physical contact, and sometimes it all feels so uncertain and dangerous that he can’t sleep, and he’s been having the oddest dreams of childhood half-memories in the age of the apocalypse, and yet even when the world seems so fucked up, this is what’s excruciating really, this - not existing in Sander’s embrace right this second and for how long?

That’s when he realizes that he’s not being selfish and irrational: it’s not despite the world being fucked up that he wants to be with Sander. It’s because of it. Because Sander is his Lover, his best friend, the one who will listen to his complaints, to his fears, the one who’ll protect him and distract him and comfort him. The one who’ll be there through it all.

And suddenly Robbe adores him that much more, though he didn’t know it was even possible.

His only Love.

So he’ll wait. He has no choice but to.


	2. Sander confined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at home during lockdown.

Sander is staring out the open window. Not really staring. More like lost in thought, with his head turned facing the street. He can feel both the cold breeze and the warm sun on his face. But he’s not really looking. He is remembering. A similar day, months ago, colder, but with the same open skies. In his bedroom, on that day, he made a decision. 

***

He knows Robbe got scared, after his episode, that Sander did not, could not love him. And the truth is, what he’s never told Robbe is that a long time ago he had wondered the same thing. It wasn’t just not being able to find someone who loved him that terrified him. After his diagnosis, after all the mess, after getting to know his disorder, after trying to find a way to deal, to protect himself and others from the fall out, once he could sit down and think about what this all meant in the long term, he had a thought. And it haunted him for a long time. Instead of disappearing like he’d wanted it to, it stayed and spread. One question: am I capable of love? Not am I worthy of love, but simply can I love? Because if he couldn’t give the whole of himself to someone, if it all lasted only for the mess of an episode, if he couldn’t find that fundamental feeling as he picked his brain apart to try and figure out what was real and what wasn’t, if there was only the noise in his head, everything at the same time, or nothing at all, then maybe this life… But he refused to finish that last thought. When he told his therapist all this, she said that perhaps he shouldn’t try so hard to pin down that feeling, perhaps he should stop doubting himself and just decide to commit to someone, decide to be with them, to support them, to listen to them. Perhaps that was what love was: actions more than emotions. 

And so he decided. With Britt. Better feel nothing than everything. So he decided to stay with her, to do things with and for her. He tried to quiet his doubts and do the best he could. If that was what love was. And he found calm sometimes in those months, in the routine and the act of caring for her. And so when the tensions rose in their relationship, it did not come from a wavering commitment on his part. The fear that remained was not whether he could love, but whether he could be loved. Because he was starting to doubt if she, and therefore if anyone, ever did - apart from the people genetically obligated to. That was where his brain, his thoughts on his disorder were, when he met Robbe, when they had that talk at the beach house. And the truth is from the second he’d met Robbe, he almost never thought about all that. For a few weeks, at the start, he forgot he was ill. He existed in a new space. Under Robbe’s gaze, he wasn’t sick anymore. Whereas, with Britt, he existed only in his illness.

Except he still had bipolar. And after the attack, he was reminded of it and of the words of his therapist. Love was a decision he’d taken. He had made a commitment to Britt, and she knew him. And he would stick to it. The past weeks with Robbe had only been him getting lost in his brain a little bit. He’d been careless. And of course it had all ended in pain. And he wouldn’t do that to Robbe. So he listened to Britt, and renewed his promise to himself and to her.

And then there was that assignement at school: Paint a moment when you knew. That’s when he realized. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t sort through all his emotions, if he couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, if love was different for him than it was for others. Because there had been so many moments, with Robbe. So many times when he just knew. Seeing him all shy and uncertain, spray painting on the garbage trucks, almost careful in his misdemeanor. He’d joked about it, but it was true. Seeing him take care of Noor, of his friends. When he’d winked at him on their first evening alone together. He’d melted right then. When he’d gotten jealous of Britt. That stupid magic trick on their date. And he had tried to ignore all of those moments after the attack to go back to Britt. But working on that assignment, thinking about it all again, he couldn’t anymore. Every single one of those moments had felt just right. Every single one of those moments had been beautiful. So he really had meant it when he’d said “I love you” to Robbe. It wasn’t just him getting lost in the meanders of his messed-up brain. It was him acknowledging those moments. As he worked on that assignment, suddenly, he didn’t have doubts anymore. He knew not only that he had the capacity to love, but that his relationship with Britt wasn’t it. And that he loved Robbe, more than he ever thought he could love someone. After that, he focused all his energy on showing him exactly that, and hoping he’d take him back. 

***

Sander looks down at the open notebook on his lap. No drawings in it. Just writing. All his thoughts on his disorder. Trying to figure it out. He hasn’t shown this to anyone, because he’s not very good with words, and because he's not writing for others. But one day, he’ll have to thank Robbe for showing him what love was, for helping him without even knowing it, helping him discover this fundamental thing about himself, helping him be kinder to himself, and trust himself a little more. And this confinement is awful and he is still angry that so few people talk about its impact on people with mental illness. But he is grateful now that it has given him an opportunity to sit down and think about all this, to write all this down. Something he hasn’t done in a while. The thought of Robbe waiting too, and being right there to meet him when all this is over, makes him smile to himself and sigh a little sigh. Now he switches his notebook for a sketchbook and goes back to working on a school assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an answer to people who try to argue that the Even characters are mere narrative tools, plot devices for the Isaks' character development. This is me trying to show that if Sander was crucial in Robbe's journey to self-acceptance, Robbe was also crucial in Sander's journey to self-discovery. 
> 
> This was inspired by a dialogue bit in the last episode of Spinning Out (season 1).
> 
> This is also one possible explanation for Sander breaking up with Robbe after the attack.


	3. Robbe's point of view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I posted this yesterday on tumblr. One night Robbe can't help himself. He just has to leave the apartment.

Robbe takes a tentative peek outside. There’s no point really because he has made his decision. He takes a deep breath and steps out of the building. His mother is asleep in his bedroom and the world is quiet and he didn’t think he’d be the type of person to do this. He spent the past 2 weeks silently judging every passer-by who wasn’t actually jogging or carrying groceries or walking a dog. Yet here he is. Moving discreetly, or so he hopes, on the empty sidewalks. Not sure if the city looks soothing or threatening, dark and orange under the streetlights.

Robbe checks his watch: 23:49. He didn’t take his bike so as not to draw attention to himself. And he suddenly discovers the joys of walking. After days of pacing around his apartment, feeling trapped like a caged bird, bored now from studying and taking cooking lessons from his mom who is doing better now, and phone conversations with his friends, and listening to music, and being alone, and leaving a few creative projects unfinished, this feels liberating. He takes deep breaths in, and the fresh air is invigorating. He avoids a few people walking their dogs, and the odd passer-by. And the world exists only to him now. He wishes he could see wild animals in the street, like he’s seen in the news. A deer, or a rabbit, or something. But his journey is quiet, disturbed only by the blue light and noise of TV sets in living rooms, making buildings look like giant aquariums.

And finally he gets there. Another silent building looming in the darkness. And Robbe feels relief. As if he’d almost expected not to find it where he left it last time. He spends a moment looking at it from the other side of the street. Unsure now. He finally takes out his phone.

“Come down.”

A few seconds later, Sander is coming out of the building. In a black tee-shirt that Robbe knows so well. And he can’t help but smile. Sander walks directly towards him and then stops before he reaches the sidewalk where Robbe is standing. 6 feet apart they remain for long minutes. Sander’s hair glowing in the light of the nearest street lamp. And it takes a while, them looking silently at each other, unsure what to say, for Robbe to become aware of the tear falling down his cheek.

He wipes it with the back of his hand.

“This is unbearable.”

Sander doesn’t answer.

“Let’s never do this again, ok?”

“Ok.”

At that Robbe turns around and leaves. The pain of missing Sander’s touch is excruciating. And he isn’t sure yet whether coming to see him tonight has brought him relief or more hurt. He knows he couldn’t help it though. And he’ll never be sorry.


	4. "Can't we just meet up once?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Sander's adorable texts and video from WTFOCKDOWN.

DAY 6

14:56

Sander is fully aware that he is not wearing anything more than his underwear as he lies down on his unmade bed and sets his phone unsteadily against a pillow. Robbe is looking back at him on the screen, shaking his head. Sander doesn’t miss the exasperated sigh that escapes his boyfriend’s lips. Robbe is turning his head away as Sander backs up a little so that his entire, naked upper body is visible on camera.

“What are you doing?” Robbe asks, looking at Sander from the corner of his eyes.

Sander smirks.

“Don’t,” Robbe interrupts him before he can come up with a snarky answer. “I don’t even want to know.”

Sander scoffs, but doesn’t move.

“Don’t make me hang up,” Robbe threatens, in a voice that manages to sound both teasing and pained.

“But!” Sander knows he has to say something now. The smirk has disappeared off his face now. He looks down, both shy and hopeful, vulnerable, naked on his bed, as he asks: “Can’t we just meet up once?”

***

DAY 9

04:02

Sander has been lying very still under his covers, old sweatpants and a teeshirt that still smells a bit like Robbe. Eyes open in the darkness as he stares at the ceiling. He has just spent the past few hours struggling very hard not to do something. Sweating a little, focused on trying not to call Robbe.

He knows he probably looks like a mess. And he doesn’t want to worry Robbe. This is new for him. Not the heightened emotions, but knowing that someone is there to help him through it all. Having Robbe but not having him right there with him makes it that much harder. And at the same time he doesn’t want to rely on him too much, and doesn’t want to scare him again.

But this is too much. With a frustrated grunt, Sander sits up and picks up his phone. The blue light hurts his eyes as he calls Robbe’s number.

“What’s wrong?”

Not even one full ring before Robbe’s voice answer, sounding anxious.

Sander doesn’t know what to say.

“Can’t we just meet up once?” He finally lets out, his voice low.

There’s no answer for a while, until Sander hears a refrained sob.

“I miss you so much,” Robbe finally says, his voice trembling and broken.

***

DAY 21

22:39

When Robbe finally answers the call, he has a happy smile on his face and fairy lights around his neck. Sander smiles too at that.

“You look happy.”

“I was just on the phone with the guys.”

“How are they doing?”

He asks. But really he just wants to play with Robbe’s hair. It’s longer now. And Sander would very much like to know how it feels to have his fingers laced in it.

“They’re ok. Moyo wanted Jens to give him his weed.”

“They’re going to meet up?” Sander asks, suddenly focused an hopeful.

“No. And I know what you’re going to say. We can’t either, my Love.”

“Please,” Sander begs, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes looking longingly at Robbe from under his long lashes. “Can’t we just meet up once?”

***

DAY 22

23:19

Sander knows Robbe has been so focused on helping out his mom and being there for him, on loving him from afar and also doing his homework and trying to be a good friend.

For him, staying in and social distancing are the hardest part in this situation. But he knows Robbe has been worrying about everything else too, everything else that will no doubt result from this, more than the lockdown itself.

Sander has been trying to comfort Robbe and reassure, to the best of his capacities. And he is not sure he is doing a very good job of it. Still, there’s no other choice but to continue trying.

All these thoughts are at the back of his head as he calls Robbe to check in. And yet, discovering his baby bird eyes red and cheeks wet with tears is a shock.

“This universe is so shitty,” Robbe manages to say after a heartbreaking sob. “I don’t want it. If this is it and I can’t even be with you, then I don’t want it.”

Sander has never seen Robbe like this - angry and hopeless. Mad at the world, at the hand he’s been dealt. He is not sure what to say. Not about the state of the world, not after complaining all those times about wanting to be with him.

“Can’t we just meet up once?” Robbe finally asks.

And suddenly, after all those times, it’s Sander’s turn to be the reasonable one, and as delicately as possible, as lovingly as possible, to tell Robbe it’s going to be okay, and we’ll be together soon and I’ll never leave you ever again until you throw me out, and we have to take this one day at a time. I love you and we will get through this.


	5. An epistolary tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sander needs something tangible to get through this time apart. So he starts a correspondance with Robbe.

13 April 2020

Dearest Robin,

I’m looking out my window at the baby blue sky and thinking of you. I feel like I am discovering what it actually means to miss someone. And it is not about an emotional connection or long conversations or laughing together or wanting to see someone. Missing someone is about bodies and touching and wanting to hug and kiss and stroke and my fingers in your hair and the way you smell and how your hands set my skin on fire. Missing someone is physical. 100%.

And so I decided that if I’m - if we’re - going to get through this, the only way to do this is to find a way to establish some sort of tangible connection between us. Without actually being together. Which is the hardest, most fucking excruciating part. And that’s why I left a drawing in your mailbox the other day. I used to think those 19th-century poets were ridiculous for leaving tears and kisses and locks of hair in love letters, but I understand them now. That’s why I’m writing you this letter now. And I hope it will bring you some comfort, just as the thought of you receiving something from me, something I touched, something I made, and the hope of receiving something back, will do for me.

I love you. Voor altijd.

Your Sander

_______________________

14 April 2020

My Love,

Thank you for your letter. Lately my mother has been feeling overwhelmed by the lockdown. But we’re dealing and we’ll be okay. I’m okay.

I am looking out my window at the trees. The morning is beautiful. The tender green of the new blossoms reminds me of your eyes. It’s one of the material things that bring me joy by reminding me of you. Your drawings are of great comfort too, and make your absence more bearable. I understand what you mean when you say you need something tangible to help you through these times. I should thank you again for having thought of it before you even put it into words. I feel very fortunate to have had traces of you everywhere in my room from the start. I never knew I could feel so loved. I did not believe it to be possible. This fire. Inside me, inside you.

I do not know very well how to express my feelings back to you. So I’ll simply do as you said, and touch my lips to this page, leaving secret kisses for you only, beautiful star.

Write me again soon.

Yours always,

Robbe

_______________________

15 April 2020

Dearest Robin,

I think yesterday I forgot for a second there, I forgot everything I told you about how missing someone is something physical. I wanted so badly to feel you close, I forgot you probably want touch and tangible love as much as I do. I forgot maybe this virtual stuff isn’t for you. And it wouldn’t have been enough for me either anyways.

The good thing about me embarrassing myself like that, though, is that now you know how much I physically want and miss you. And I can’t wait. I can barely contain myself for when we get to do it all for real. I can’t wait for your skin on mine and your lips on mine and... I can’t wait for you clinging to me, my darling. I’ll love you so much it’ll blow your mind, make your knees weak. Like a slow burn, turning us round and round. All night. I’ll want you all night. I’ll want what you want. I’ll be so lucky. I can’t wait.

I hope this is okay.

I miss you,

Your Sander

_______________________

16 April 2020

Sander, my Love,

You have nothing to be embarassed about. You expressed a desire. And you felt free to do it because deep down you knew that I would never judge you for it, would never make you feel bad about it, about anything that you want. But it is true, I was taken aback by your proposal.

And now it’s my turn to be embarrassed. I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know how it goes. And I don’t know if I want to try it or if I don’t want to try it. Does that make sense? I don’t know if that’s something I’ll like. If I won’t find it too odd. And we might try, and I might be bad at it. And you might hate it. And I might hate it too. You know me, I’m not very good at improvisation. I need a plan and there’s no handbook for this. So I might need to think about it some more.

Yet regardless of my answer, remember that my feelings for you remain unchanged. I adore every single part of you. Even the ones that lead to awkward situations. Especially those. And I look forward to the day when we can finally touch again and do everything you mentioned in your last letter. Every thing.

Yours,

Robbe


	6. What each of them misses

Sander misses sharing. A joint, a bed, a shower. Food from a single plate. Music from a single phone.

He misses being part of a pair. Making sure there are 2 free spots next to each other on the bike racks, at the bar, by the water.

He leans against walls, stands in corners in rooms, unsure what to do with himself if his body doesn’t have Robbe to hold, his presence to feel close.

He is cold. All the time. Shivers at his desk, freezing feet in bed at night. His face searching for the sun, eyes closed soaking in its soft warmth, reminding him of one boy.

***

Robbe misses caring. Checking his hair in the mirror before leaving the apartment. Leaving love notes on desks. Trying to find the right words.

He wanders at night, without a hand to squeeze or a shoulder for his head to rest as he did when they’d sit at the back of rooms, letting parties die down.

He misses himself leaning closer and closer as Sander talks and talks. Misses Sander inviting him into his bubble, holding the door open for him, looking him in the eyes.

He remembers staying awake to feel his breath against him. Days when he’d have nothing to do but being with him, being with him, being with him. Through it all, laughter and love and hard life.

***

What is left is their story, though, and it is far from over. In the meantime, please, tell me again.


	7. A baby bird of the morning; a bright start of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Sander has a new-found appreciation for mornings; while Robbe has a new-found appreciation for nights.

Sander has always felt a particular affinity with nights. Music just sounds better under the moon. Colors are more intriguing. The world seems to be holding its breath, before disappearing, or being taken by storm. Existing feels different.

But in recent months, he has had a new appreciation for mornings. The comfort of soft yellow light after the dark. Every green and brown and orange hue warmer.

In the early hours, when he used to go to sleep, he now finds himself looking out the window, at the trees and the quiet. Thinking of a boy, with the name and face of baby bird.

***

Robbe likes mornings. He likes feeling rested and ready to get started on everything he has to do. He studies better during the day. He likes the race of the sun, mirroring his own productivity coming, then going. Parties are fine but he likes being out during the day, skating, hanging out with friends.

But recently, Robbe has had a new appreciation for nighttime. Staying up to watch the world go to sleep from his window. The quiet breathing of the city, everything more mysterious, the pale beauty of the streets under the glow of the cold moon.

And he has sneaked out a few times in the past months. Just to walk, feel the fresh air on his face. He has stopped on benches, or by the river, and looked up at the sky which reminded of one boy, his bright star.


End file.
